I have returned to my place in the shadows.
I watch the band begin the beguine,
Note who has changed partners,
And who sits out a set.
But for a moment there, I once again
Was blessed enough to take another turn.
A stately waltz, it's steps close held,
Its undertones of eros more evident with every refrain.
I really did.
But with every turn, with every pass I saw
At his place by the door,
The mocking grin of the Amaranthine Porter.
It was doomed, as I knew we would be
The moment the band-leader hefted his hand.
The music grew louder,
My steps faltered more,
The spectators voices a deafening roar.
It didn't matter.
As Mollari said,
I had forgotten how to dance.
Like good dancers,
We bore it till the end.
The music ended, and with his skeleton smile,
The Footman made his way through the floor
And to a special few
He gave them back their coats.
Again I was afraid.
And I was right to be.
Shattered by grief, and the madness of heartbreak,
I again found myself in that blighted wasteland.
But I am back now.
I recorded the dances, their partners, the songs and sets.
It is my job, I am a watcher.
Thus, I watch.
It will have to be enough.